


Cannot Live On Bread Alone

by revestogers (thenewdarling)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewdarling/pseuds/revestogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From prompt for AU where Steve Rogers owns a bakery</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Every morning starts the same. 

He gets up at 6am, bright and early, and goes for a run while the air’s still fresh and crisp. It’s one of the main reasons he moved out of the centre of the city.

He gets home at around 7, showers, and goes to open the shop.

He gets there at around 7:30, writes the soup of the day on the chalkboard, and starts making the bread.

It’s a straightforward life, but he’s a pretty straightforward guy. Straightforward is easy. That’s what he says when Natasha picks on him for naming his bakery simply, “Steve’s”.

 #

Natasha is always the first one there in the morning. She never looks tired - another early bird clearly. She’s always there 7:45 on the dot with her newspaper - some Russian broadsheet - and she orders a large Americano and a bagel. She sits and reads the newspaper, and they small talk for half an hour before she’s on her way. By then he catches the breakfast crowd, and he’s busy until lunch.

It’s the same every day.

So when this man turns up shortly after Natasha one morning, and he buys an empty roll and sits and picks at it until past lunchtime, Steve is a little confused. But he lets it go.

And then it happens every day for a week, and by then Steve is starting to think maybe this scruffy-looking stranger is just a new part of the routine.

 #

Mrs. Morrow comes in every day too, at the end of the breakfast rush.

“Good morning, Steve!”

He looked up from his dough and smiled at her. “Morning, Miss Morrow,” he said, making a show of throwing the dough in the air.

She giggled like a schoolgirl. “You’re covered in flour!”

He furrowed his brow. “I am?” He looked down at the metal counter - there were white patches all over his cheeks and in his hair.

“Come here,” she said, and she wet her finger to scrub it off his cheekbone.

He scoffed. “What would I do without you. What can I do you for?”

“One of those fresh baguettes and a strawberry tart please!”

And she waddled out whistling a happy tune.

 #

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“How do you flirt so shamelessly with that old lady?” she asked. “It’s almost impressive.”

Steve spluttered. “I-! I- I don’t-!”

“You do,” came a voice from in the corner.

It was the trashy young man picking at the roll.

Steve was speechless. Natasha smiled into her paper.

“You-!” Steve said. The man looked fixedly down at his roll again, and didn’t look up.

Natasha smirked. “I’d better go,” she said, folding up the broadsheet under her arm and downing the last of her coffee. “Duty calls.”

Steve pouted.

She turned on the way out, and affected a hunchback and mimed having a walking stick. “Steeeeve?” she said, as though she had no teeth. “Could I have your fresh baguette?”

Steve turned beetroot and flipped her the bird. “You know where the door is!”

Turning as she waved over her back, he accidentally locked eyes with the stranger. He was smiling and it looked slightly terrifying.

Steve cleared his throat, ignoring his blush, and got back to work.

#

The next day, the man was there _before_ Natasha.

“Morning, sir, what can I do you for?” he asked, leaning his hands on the counter.

“One… One roll, please,” the man said, looking at his feet.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Just empty again, yeah?”

The man nodded sharply.

Steve smirked. He almost seemed like a kid, the way he was so shy and receding. Steve picked a warm roll out of the bread basket, and put it in his hand. “On the house,” he said. “Just don’t agree with Natasha again.” He winked.

Then he realised he’d done something wrong. The man was staring at him like he’d just ripped the head off a small animal. “You ok?”

The man withdrew his hand and fidgeted with the gloves he was wearing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Ok..?” Steve said. “I’m Steve by the way. Name on the front if you forget,” he joked, pointing.

The man looked him up and down. He was still wide-eyed. Jesus, his eyes were _huge_ … It was like his face was just made of eyes and lips and grime.

He looked at his feet again. Blinking. Recalibrating. “I’m - I’m Bucky.”

Then he ran out the shop.

#

After that little display, Steve thought that would be the last time Bucky came in. But there he was, same time as usual, while Steve was wiping down the counters.

Natasha didn’t bother looking up now - she must have gotten bored of him but then he saw the book she was reading and muttered something as he stood at the counter.

She looked up, intrigued - and replied in Russian.

He piped up with a hesitant answer and Steve watched as they garbled away, pretending he didn’t realise they were talking about him.

She nodded towards the door, and smiled, and he looked at his feet and left. He looked like he’d forgotten he even had the roll.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“None of your business,” she answered, in her patented Natasha Secrets Voice™, opening her book again. “You missed a spot,” she gestured with her nose.

Steve shook his head.

#

He didn’t know what it was. Every day. He just sat there!

Was Bucky even his real name? Why did he speak Russian? And why for _God’s sake_ wouldn’t he stop staring at him?

Every day it niggled him more and more.

Until Friday, when he just snapped.

“Roll?” he asked when Bucky came in, before he even had a chance to reach the counter.

Bucky startled like a deer. “Um, yes.”

“Empty?”

“Yes.”

“Who does that?”

“I’m.. sorry?”

“Who eats empty rolls?!” he snapped. “It’s weird!”

“I’m, I’m sorry!”

“And why do you sit here for so long? Don’t you have anywhere else to be?!”

“… No.”

 #

Steve stopped dead. “I’m - I’m so sorry I don’t know where that all came from, I just-“

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, looking a little stunned. “I’ll, I’ll go.”

“No!” Steve said, and he grabbed Bucky’s hand. Bucky wrenched it out of his grip. “Please!”

Bucky stopped.

“Please stay,” Steve said. “I feel terrible. I just wanted to know-“

“I don’t know a lot about food,” Bucky said, still not looking Steve in the eye. “I like rolls, I guess. I didn’t know what else to get.”

Steve’s mouth tugged at the edges. “Here. Come sit at the counter.” He patted the seat, and went off to fetch ingredients.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus this thing has far too much underlying sexual tension for my liking. It's so cringey - I feel like 90% of the time it's just about to descend into Fifty Shades of Red, White and Blue xD

“Oh my God, this is the best apple pie I’ve ever tasted!” Bucky said.

Steve was leaning on the bread oven, grinning his stupid head off. “Nah, it’s nothing special.”

“You _made_ this?”

Steve nodded. “Hey, do I hear some Brooklyn in there?”

Bucky looked up.

Steve beamed. “I knew it. It was difficult to tell because you never say anything. Or if you do, it’s Russian.”

“I thought I’d lost my accent, to be honest.”

“I’m _perceptive_ ,” Steve said. “Also I’m from Brooklyn too.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky said. He pushed the plate away from him.

“Jeez, did you lick the plate while I wasn’t looking?” Steve said, taking the plate away and turning round to put it in the sink. Bucky flushed red. “Though you look like you haven’t eaten in days, maybe it’s just-“

There was a jingle as the door swung open and Steve turned to see Bucky’s barstool spinning on its axis.

He sighed. “What a weird guy…”

Then, on cue, Natasha turned up. She approached the counter with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I just walked past that Bucky guy, he was looking pretty hot and bothered. Something you’d know anything about?”

“I gave him my pie.”

“Oh, I bet you did sailor,” she slid into Bucky’s chair, and pulled out her laptop - a huge, clunky-looking contraption that made more noise than a washing machine. “The usual please,” she said. “Why is it always the pie with you, Steve? You’re such a momma’s boy.”

Steve felt like his face was on fire. “I am not. You’re like this close to being barred you know.”

Nat pushed her glasses down her face - a pair of 60s, horn-rimmed ones that fanned out like butterfly wings. She changed glasses so often Steve was pretty sure there were no lenses in them. “You wouldn’t dare,” she grinned.

Steve pretended to have something else to be doing in the back.

#

Steve liked pie. He’d always liked pie. Maybe it was how it fed so many people at once - or how you could cut it into slices or just eat a whole one with a spoon - or how you could have it on its own or with ice cream or custard.. Maybe it was just the memories of him with his mom on nice days when they’d not have a lot of luxuries, but there was always pie.

Of course Nat would rip him a new one if he ever said this out loud, so he kept his mouth shut.

But still. Who didn’t like pie?

“What’s that? Give me one of those.” Natasha gestured to the tarts as he pulled them out of the fridge to put on the low shelves on the back wall.

“You know, you’re gonna put me out of business!” Steve said with a laugh.

She pouted. “You gave Bucky pie.”

“I give you free stuff every day!” he said, not looking.

“Did you give him that view as well?” she said, looking down her nose at him bent down among the shelves with his butt in the air.

He banged his head on the shelf above.

#

“Hey Bucky, same a—“

“Oh my god what happened to you?!” Bucky asked.

Steve looked confused for a second, then - “Oh. Right. Yeah.” He gestured to the large bandage around his head. “Banged my head. I probably don’t need all this but Natasha’s kind of weird about this stuff. She had it in her rucksack…”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure you’re okay.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine. Sit down, I’ll get you more p-“ Suddenly he remembered what Natasha said and cringed. “Uh… how about something new today.”

Bucky nodded, and shuffled into his usual seat.

He reminded Steve so much of a little kid. Almost like a certain little kid he knew who was constantly getting beat up in alleyways, but he shook that from his memory. Besides, physically, Bucky looked more like the kid who delivered the beatings. Or at least, maybe. It was difficult to tell his build when he wore so many layers of clothing.

He plopped a cup of tea and a baguette sandwich down in front of him and said conversationally, “Aren’t you warm in all that? It’s really hot in here.”

The door tinkled.

Fuck.

“Do I only have two customers?” Steve asked, hoping Natasha hadn’t heard that out of context. She clearly had.

“All the old dears are getting jealous of Bucky, they’ve abandoned you,” Natasha said. She smiled at Bucky like she was going to eat him. “Morning, bud.”

“Hi.” Bucky stared at the cup of tea.

They started talking in Russian. Steve had to keep from rolling his eyes, but then a thought occurred to him. And he was suddenly painfully curious to know why such a quiet man from Brooklyn would know how to speak conversational Russian.

He went to get more flour, and when he returned carrying the 20kg sack over his shoulder, they both stared at him as they talked. Bucky was hiding his face behind his tea mug.

Steve put the sack down and pretended not to notice, wishing he hadn’t picked today to wear the tightest t-shirt in his wardrobe.

#

Someone threw a brick through the window at around two in the afternoon. No-one had been hurt, but the guy got away before they could do anything.

Steve was about to chase him down the street but he didn’t want to leave the shop with all the glass on the floor with people standing around.

“Who would _do_ something like this?” Bucky asked.

“I dunno, Buck,” Steve said, sweeping. “We’re not _that_ far out the city. The world’s full of angry people I guess.”

“He’ll get what’s coming to him.” Bucky said it like he planned on throwing the guy through the same window. Steve looked at him, leaning on the brush.

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He reached out a hand. “Could you pass me that shovel?” Bucky reached over to get the shovel in question and leaned out of his chair to hand it over.

It happened in a split-second. One second, Bucky was teetering on the edge of the chair, then, he was falling, head-first into the pile of glass.

He put out his hand and broke his fall, plunging the hand into the glass. Steve - though he would refuse to admit this later - _yelped_.

“Jesus Christ, are you ok?” Steve asked. “Your hand!”

“It’s fine,” said Bucky. “Honestly.”

“But you-!”

  
And then Bucky started _picking the bits of glass out of his hand with his fingers_. Steve felt like he was going to throw up, until he saw a glint of metal through the holes in the glove.

“What the hell…”

Bucky turned crimson. “I’m-“

“Where the hell did you get a metal hand from?”


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s.. it’s a prosthetic.”

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off it. “May I-?”

Reluctantly, Bucky held out his hand.

This was no prosthetic, thought Steve. The chrome fingers twitched just like real fingers, it was anatomically perfect. This was _art_. “How did- how did you afford this?”

“I’m kind of an experiment,” Bucky looked down. “Apparently I was the perfect test subject after…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steve said - somehow he hadn’t realised that Bucky must have _lost_ his arm to get this. “How did it happen?”

“Landmine. I was in the army.”

Steve gulped. “That sounds…”

Bucky grunted. “I don’t remember much about it. Apparently the force threw me off a cliff, and I got pinned under a rock.”

Steve sucked air through his teeth.

Bucky smiled weakly.

“Well,” Steve said, swallowing to clear a bad taste in his mouth. “You look pretty good for a war veteran.”

Bucky smiled. “Thanks, I guess.”

“And I bet you’ve got a hell of a left hook now,” Steve said.

Bucky shook his head, and his hair fell about his face. “You have no idea.”

Steve grinned. “Maybe we could spar some day or something. I got a pretty mean swing myself.”

Bucky sat back down in his chair. “I’d like that.”

#

“Sorry, we’re just closi— oh!” Steve looked up from cleaning up the counters at the end of the day at the sound of the tinkling bell at the door. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

“Hey, pal,” Clint said, pulling up a barstool.

“You’re a little late for scraps, the kids already came and took ‘em all.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Freaking kids. You turned the coffee machine off yet?”

Steve looked in the back. “I think you’re good,” he said, and went to fix a cup. Knowing what the response would be, he called through: “Have you popped the question yet?”

“No! Ok! Stop asking!”

Steve returned, chuckling. “You know the longer you put it off, the more likely she is to work out it’s coming.”

“That’s kind of the plan. Maybe she’ll find out, and kill me, and I won’t need to actually do it.”

“Ouch, that’s kind of harsh,” Steve said. “If you don’t wanna ask, then why are you asking?” He put the steaming mug down in front of him and Clint cradled it like a baby squirrel.

“You know that’s what I mean,” he shook his head. “It’s just. She’s so… together. I don’t know if I like the idea of asking her to chain herself to a human disaster like me.”

Steve tutted. “Aww, baby.” He put a brotherly hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, you’re not a complete disaster. Like… half a Titanic. At the most. Maybe a third.”

Clint gave him a vinegary smile. “You should write greeting cards.”

“You’d starve!”

“I’m already starving…” Clint said. “You sure there’s no scraps left?”

“God, you’re like a vulture. Or a pigeon or something. You scavenger, you.”

Clint gave him a mocking salute. “That’s me.” Then he took a swig of coffee, and mid-way, remembered something. He made an excited noise into the cup and put it down, swallowing. “Sorry to keep harping on - but check this out.”

He reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a little box, handing it over. Steve opened it, and raised an eyebrow.

“That is… the ugliest ring I’ve ever seen in my life.” There was a gem in the middle of it which looked more like dried rock.

Clint looked hurt. “It cost me six months’ wages.”

_“Wow.”_ Steve snorted. “They saw you coming, from a _loooong_ way away.”

“No but check this out!” he took it back, and nodded behind Steve at the light switch. “Dim the lights. You’ll see!”

Steve furrowed his brow, but did as he was told. The sun was just starting to go down, and with the lights off, the room was cast in a dark blue shade. Clint produced a mini-torch from his pocket, and held it underneath the ring.

The light bounced off it and prismed, and suddenly the gemstone was a bright purple, shining an amethyst light show all around the room as it caught the light. A spinning laser show.

Steve looked around at the lights dancing off the walls. “Ok. Yeah. That is pretty damn special.”

Clint was beaming, purple light framing his face. “I know right?!” He looked like Steve was about to pin the ring to the fridge.

“How…” Steve started, then paused to word it. “How is it gonna do that when she’s wearing it?”

Clint’s mouth opened and shut like a goldfish for a second, then his face dropped like a stone. Like a shitty stone that just happened to make pretty lights if the light fell on it just right.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and he turned the lights back on. Then he looked over Clint’s shoulder, and shouted, emphatically, “Oh, hey guys!!”

It gave Clint a second to bundle the ring back into his pocket as the door opened with the tinkling bell, and Natasha and another man he’d seen around but never talked to walked in. “Hey,” he said, smiling as the two approached the counter.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “Hey, you - you’re early. Thought you were going shooting practice with the guys?”

“I uh, yeah. My game’s a little off today. Wasn’t feeling it.”

Wow. Clint was a terrible liar, thought Steve. There was very few people in Clint’s life who didn’t know that he _always_ felt shooting practice.

Steve stepped in to change the subject. “What do you mean, early? Shop’s closed.”

“Yeah, we’re getting pizza in. You in?”

“Movie night?” Steve asked.

“Movie night,” she grinned. “This is Sam, by the way.” She nodded towards the other man.

“Hi, Steve Rogers,” Steve said, shaking Sam’s hand.

“Sam Wilson, good to meet you,” Sam said. “I’ve been in before.”

“Yeah man, I’ve seen you.” Steve pointed a finger at him, thinking. “Blueberry pecan?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You got a good memory.”

Steve patted his temple. “Gotta keep the ol’ grey matter moving. I do crosswords.”

Sam chuckled. “I’ll keep it in mind.” He nodded over his shoulder. “What happened to the window?”

Steve looked at it - boarded up with paper for the moment until he could get it fixed. He shrugged. “Some kid. Who knows what goes on in their heads, huh?”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “But hey, it happens. No-one got hurt. Just gimme a second and I’ll lock up.” He bustled through to the back.

#

Pulling the shutters down over the broken window, he padlocked the shop shut and pocketed the old key. “So,” he said, zipping up his bomber jacket against the bracing cold. “I should probably warn you I’m allergic to anchovies.”

Nat scoffed. “No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. But if you get them, we can no longer be friends.”

“We were never friends in the first place. You’re my _baker_.”

It amazed Steve that Natasha could say things like that and they didn’t sound hurtful. Not even a little. In fact it actually made him laugh.

“Who’s house are we going to?” Clint asked, as Natasha put her arm in his.

“Yours,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “You’ve got the best TV.”

“Fair enough. But we’re getting Hawaiian.”

Natasha mimed choking. Then they turned the street corner, and Steve walked headlong into Bucky.

The two collapsed to the ground in a heap.

#

“Sorry! Sorry!”

“Sorry, I-uh, uh- _ouch!_ ” Bucky panted as they disentangled. Steve had panicked and accidentally kicked him in the leg.

“Sorry-”

“Sorry!”

“Sorry…”

And then they were up. Drowning in awkward. Bucky was slowly going the colour of a radish.

A second passed.

Then two.

Natasha was silently howling.

“Didn’t see you there!” Steve said loudly, trying to break the ice.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Uh, Sam, Clint, this is Bucky - he comes in the bakery sometimes,” Steve said.

“Good to meet you!” said Sam, thrusting out a hand. Bucky stared at it.

“Uh… ok?” Sam said.

“D’you…” Natasha said, sensing an opening. “We’re going for movies and pizza, would you like to join us?”

Bucky blinked. “Yes. That’d be nice.” Then he smiled, with his big pouty mouth, and Steve couldn’t stop himself from smiling too.

Natasha gave him a mischievous grin as they walked on ahead.

Steve blushed. “Oh, shut up.”

#

They started with a classic, and watched _Jurassic Park_ while they waited for the pizzas to arrive.

It turned out both Bucky and Sam had never seen it before - and they jumped through the roof at the bit with the velociraptor opening the door.

Then, _Love Actually_ , at Clint’s insistence, though he would later try to pin it on Natasha. And after that they settled on _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ , and by that point, it was quiet and pitch-black outside, and by the end of it almost all of them were asleep.

Bucky dozed in and out. By halfway through, he had fallen asleep on Steve’s shoulder. Steve gulped, but made no attempt to move him.


End file.
